Donny, Who Loved Bowling
by The Cheshire Cheese
Summary: Donny's funeral, from Donny's POV. Free at last, Donny has a few things to say, and no one will tell him to shut the fuck up this time. (One-shot.)


**A/N: ****Comedy or not, Donny's death was **_**painful**_**. I wrote this to cope. **

**I attempted to maintain the odd humor of the movie, to keep it from just being another angst fic. **

**I don't own "The Big Lebowski."**

* * *

><p>So I guess there's a rumor going around town that I was just a figment of Walter's imagination. Okay, I admit I'm not the most sociable, noticeable guy; but people in the bowling alley must've seen me talking with the Dude and the custodians and the other bowlers. A few of the conversations were a <em>tad<em> one-sided, but I know there were _some_ times they acknowledged me. What about when the Dude thanked me for telling him his phone was ringing? Or when that gay Spanish guy blew me that kiss? If I wasn't real, how do you explain _that_? Well, I guess you could explain it with telepathy. I could see the Dude being a telepath.

It feels so weird, talking as long as I want, with no one telling me to shut the fuck up. I almost kind of miss it.

Anyway, I'm real. The Dude didn't acknowledge me too much, because I was more Walter's friend. That's how I got on the bowling team. I met Walter at a rehab center, and he got weirdly attached to me; said I reminded him of a kid he knew in Vietnam. (I think that's where people get the idea I was a hallucination.) Us and the Dude, we were all estranged from our families. I won't go into detail, out of respect for my friends' privacy, and for my listeners' patience (yeah, I can hear you all telling me to shut the fuck up and get on with it; I'm a spirit or something now, so I _am_ a telepath!). We all had issues that the bowling helped us cope with; Walter had his 'Nam PTSD, the Dude had his mushroom flashbacks, and I had my heart condition. A lot of people said I should avoid Walter, with his temper, for that exact reason. But Water's type of anger never bothered me. And being around him calmed me more than any medication or therapy.

I honestly have no idea what brought on the heart attack. Obviously seeing Walter bite a nihilist's ear off didn't help, but I was feeling the numb hands and other symptoms way earlier that night. It might have been the call I got from my mom a few days before. I don't like talking to her. She's one of my triggers. She's a big part of why I left New York and moved to the other side of the continent. I never liked attention; she loved it. A lot of times she used to get it by drawing attention to my various "conditions." One anxiety that's always nagged at me was that she'd outlive me, and then use my death to wrench even more attention for herself; give me some pimped-out funeral with an open casket, where she'd weep about how she was the only one who "really understood me" or some such bullshit… Well, I said I'd avoid details. That's just the icing on the cake when it comes to my mother, and my mother's just the icing on the cake when it comes to my fucked-up family.

When I hit the pavement, feeling my chest tighten up, my first immediate fear was that she would show up and begin freaking out over me. She was on the other side of the country, but I wasn't exactly thinking rationally. You can't imagine my relief when I heard Dude and Walter's voices instead, and felt Walter putting his arms around me. I don't know how to describe it. People often said we were like brothers, but none of my brothers were ever anything like Walter.

I really can't tell you much about what followed. Just that it was _really_ trippy. I think there were bowling pins. And Beatles music. And Francoise, my ferret from when I was a kid. (Except she was huge, and breathing fire.) Some friends were there in some sense or another, Dude and Walter among them. It was like a really wicked music video.

And then everything was dark, and enclosed. For a second, I was afraid I was in Hell. I immediately began running through my possible sins: all those times I skipped church to go bowling, all those times I talked out of turn during bowling or school or church, and had to be told "Shut the fuck up Donny!" by Walter or Professor McCord or Father O'Malley. I examined my prison, and to my horror, I realized I was locked in some kind of sealed container. I had finally, _literally_, been shut the fuck up!

But then I heard Walter's voice.

"Donny was a good bowler, and a good man. He was one of us. He was a man who loved the outdoors, and bowling..."

And then it hit me: I wasn't in Hell, I was in an urn! You know, like they put dead people's cremated ashes in! It smelled a lot like my favorite coffee. (Aroma Roasted?) I was going to Heaven after all, sent off by my favorite aroma, accompanied by my favorite voice.

"…and as a surfer he explored the beaches of Southern California, from La Jolla to Leo Carrillo and…up to…Pismo."

Wait, surfer _what_? Walter, what the fuck are you talking about? I _kind of_ remember saying I was _thinking_ about taking up surfing, maybe a month ago.

"He died, like so many young men of his generation, he died before his time. In your wisdom, Lord, you took him, as you took so many bright flowering young men at Khe Sanh, at Langdok, at Hill 364. These young men gave their lives."

Walter…_WHAAAAT_?

"… And so would Donny. Donny, who loved bowling."

Well at least you got _something_ right.

"And so, Theodore Donald Karabotsos, in accordance with what we think your dying wishes might well have been, we commit your final mortal remains to the bosom of the Pacific Ocean, which you loved so well."

So…cremated, ashes mixed with coffee grounds, to be ultimately scattered into the ocean... I wouldn't have thought of that myself, but you know what guys, I like it! I like it a lot! God, I love you guys so, so much.

"Good night, sweet prince."

…._huh?_

Then suddenly, a blinding light, as Walter pulled the lid off the coffee can. There are really no words to describe how free and light I felt. No heart condition to weigh me down, nobody telling me to shut the fuck up, no more psychotic relatives…

As soon as I rose from my can, my first impulse was to bombard my friends with a farewell embrace, to thank them for everything. Now would have been a good time for me to remember that I was, in fact, a cloud of ashes. But it slipped my mind. Before realizing my mistake, I was all over the Dude's face—covering his glasses, settling in his beard and shirt. Sorry, Dude.

Walter grumbled something like, "Damn wind," and they started arguing again. For the first time, I decided not to interrupt them. I did a complete one eighty and left the cliff, making a beeline for the waves. _Surfing_. Wouldn't have thought of that myself, Walter. But I like the sound of it.


End file.
